


The best song wasn’t the single, but you weren’t either

by agent_orange



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anxiety, Community: kink_bingo, Depression, Divorce, F/M, Impregnation Kink, Kink Bingo 2013, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Size Kink, Threesome - F/M/M, Vomiting, Wet & Messy, male impregnation play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_orange/pseuds/agent_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Gabe still feels like it's a trap, that what he and Pete are doing actually isn't okay, that she actually isn't okay with leaving right after sex, but that's just his anxiety talking. Meagan is way too warm-hearted for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The best song wasn’t the single, but you weren’t either

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to lalejandra for letting me play in one of her universes and for braindumping hilarious chatfic on me.
> 
> Title from Frank Ocean's "Sweet Life." Section headers from captions of "A Softer World" archived photosets. Written for the kink bingo prompt "messy, dirty, wet."
> 
> Disclaimer: These are real people, not my characters, and they belong to no one besides themselves. This did not happen. If you got here by Googling yourself, please hit the back button.

**i. all my dreams came true. i just didn't think them through.**

Gabe likes things neat and organized. He _needs_ them that way, so that when there's a mess in his life ( _familyElisatouring_ ) he's not completely overwhelmed. So what if people make fun of him for color-coding his clothes and scrubbing the ever-living crap out of everything and entering tour bus codes three times before he goes in? Compartmentalizing doesn't take care of everything, and he's always going to lose his shit, but his therapist talks at him about control and anxiety, so he goes with it.

His desire to have everything spotless and in a certain place doesn't go over so well with a five-year-old. Bronx is great, but Gabe doesn't think he's ever met a kid this messy. It's probably something he inherited from Pete, who doesn't see a problem with leaving dirty clothes and towels strewn across the floor and dishes in the sink for days.

The fact that his anxiety ramps up as winter drags on isn't surprising, given that FOB's heading to Europe and Asia in the spring. Like their last one, it's going to be a short tour, now that they're all adults with other responsibilities; it's not like Gabe's a codependent loser, and pretty much given up his New York place to live with Pete and Meagan, but it's still six weeks of time apart. Meagan's career is taking off and Bronx already in preschool, what the _fuck_. It's a good thing that Gabe doesn't have anything going on, or else he'd probably be trying to deal with everything the old way.

Pete looks unreasonably surprised, probably because Gabe's been weaning off his Celexa (but not the Wellbutrin), when he comes home from writing to find Gabe steam cleaning the stains off the carpet. He doesn't even have it in him to look sheepish—until Meagan comes home earlier than he expected her to.

"This better be good," she says. "Or important, whatever. I left halfway through my spin class." Gabe doesn't even think she broke a sweat.

Pete sighs. "Gabe's freaking out." He cuts off Gabe's attempts at denial, which make his heart beat faster. "Yeah, you are. My fucking Clan hoodies are organized by color and chronology, dude. Even the ones in the spare room. When's the last time you saw me wear one?" Last week, Gabe thinks, because 'everything else was dirty,' but that's beside the point and he knows it."And you've been all jittery."

Meagan drops her gym bag and presses herself against Gabe's back. He was right. She's completely dry, and he doubts he's getting off easy. Communication is serious business in this house. "Come on, tell us what's up," she presses, brushing a kiss across the nape of his neck.

Feelings. Right. Okay. "I love you both, and I know it's not even that long so it's stupid to make a big deal of it, but we just barely have _this_ —" he makes a gesture that he hopes conveys 'relationship and everything else' "—figured out and God knows how long that took, and now you guys are leaving and I'm just gonna be here buying way too much stuff from Erewhon and, like, trying to ghostwrite music but actually just playing Mario Kart."

He still feels like he's going to throw up, even if his heart doesn't feel like it's going to explode anymore.

Meagan pulls away and turns to look at him. She and Pete both frown, and Pete's forehead even creases. Shit, they're getting old.

"Is this a brownies conversation?" Meagan asks.

Gabe shakes his head. "I could go for a regular brownie, though." They move to the kitchen so Gabe can make a sundae with vegan ice cream without any chance of mess. "Sorry," he says. "I know relationships take time, and this is really new for me, and also for you guys, I just…

"Shh." Pete kisses him and exaggeratedly licks a smear of ice cream off Gabe's face.

"Gross. No apologizing, though," Meagan says. "Not when you didn't do anything wrong. I'm not gonna be gone for six weeks straight, but I can try to move some of my New York stuff to here, if you want." He doesn't want to ask, because they don't really have that kind of relationship. It'd be nice to have another person (her) around, though. She reads his face and nods. "I'm sure it won't be a problem."

"I know you said no last time, but seriously, we could have surprise guest Gabe Saporta, if you want," Pete offers. "Come on. You love Japan. I'm sure Patrick could put a Cobra song on the setlist for you, or Midtown. No worrying about tour stuff this time. Just a couple dates, as low key as you want. You could go back to Israel or go surfing in New Zealand. Whatever you want."

Pete's tempting him, and Gabe might give in. It'd be fun. Japan helps with his anxiety, both because there can be so much going on around him, so much rush, that he doesn't have to be involved in, and because the people are somehow calmer, somehow, in the middle of a huge city. The countryside's beautiful, too.

He doesn't know if his voice would hold up, even just for a few songs on a few dates. His doctor has been telling him to take it easy for years: no screaming, no alcohol, full warmups before performing. Gabe listens sometimes, more in recent years than in earlier ones. He knows it's helped, but he'll never be able to do what he used to again, that his days at the mic are limited.

"I'll think about it," he says, and suddenly Pete's on him, knocking his elbow into Megs' ribcage by accident.

"I _knew_ you couldn't resist me!" Pete crows, practically climbing him as he kisses Gabe, and _again_ with the excessive tongue. It's better this time, though, and Gabe lets his body relax into it, edges Pete onto the table because seriously, that fucker is heavier than he looks.

"Nope, guess not," Gabe says between kisses.

The stains on the carpet get forgotten. The rest of Gabe's brownie sundae turns into a soggy mess. He only internally freaks out a little, and the afternoon slips away as they try to get Pete pregnant, Gabe fucking him and Meagan jerking him off. They take turns going down on her afterward; she comes so many times that everyone forgets the actual number and she says her entire body is sore the next morning.

**ii. there are no words for the way i feel about you. and i'd be surprised if there were words for the things i want to do to you.**

Pete still somehow doesn't sweat much during shows, but Gabe does, especially when he's bouncing around onstage and not tethered to center stage because of his base. He has a fucking awesome post-show high—nature's vodka Red Bull, Ryland calls it—that's better than he remembers. The adrenaline in his veins lets him grab Pete and push him against the nearest wall and kiss him, even with way too many people milling around backstage for it.

Joe's wolf whistle makes the tips of Gabe's ears turn pink, which he knows because he can feel the blood rushing there. Pete just flips him off and sinks his teeth into Gabe's lip, and okay, _seriously_ , they can't do that here. It's not exactly a secret that Gabe's into pain.

The trip from the venue to the hotel is easier than almost any have been in years. They could've arranged a car but none of them have had trouble in Japan, so they pile into a subway car that's already near-packed. Gabe presses his dick against Pete's ass for the whole ride.

"You're not so tiny anymore," he whispers into Pete's ear. "Comparatively speaking. Megs and I are freaks here." Pete doesn't say anything, but Gabe sees his hand tighten on the metal bar.

Meagan had a shoot earlier today and could've come to the show, theoretically, but she'd mentioned something about the size of crowds here and feeling unsafe on the train. Gabe knows not to push that kind of stuff, and she seems perfectly okay when they make it to the hotel. She's sprawled out on one of the beds, a box of caramel Pocky in her hands, the TV on and her iPad next to her.

"Good show?" she asks, holding out the box for them.

Pete of course, shoves five into his mouth at once so his reply of, " _Great_ show," is muffled and sprays crumbs everywhere.

"We'll see what Patrick thinks tomorrow," Gabe says. The band was great, as usual, but he doesn't want to oversell himself. He tries to join them on the bed, but Pete stops him.

"You're too sweaty," he says clearly, finally done wolfing down his biscuits. "You'll get the bed all gross. Shower first, dude."

Gabe tries pointing out that there are two beds and they'll both get dirty eventually, that Pete needs to shower too, but he's divested of his clothes and forced into the shower with Pete's promise of a blowjob when he's clean. And okay, it's not really a hardship. The shower's huge and there are, like, wall-mounted showerheads and fancy shampoos and stuff. He actually hums to cool down his voice like he's supposed to, and the hot water loosens his muscles.

When he's done, he wraps a towel around his waist but lets his hair drip. His clutch falters when he sees Meagan on the desk, hands in Pete's hair as they fuck. They don't see him, and Meagan is saying, "Come on, come on, hurry," so it's not hard for Gabe to guess that they were doing some kind of fantasy thing, getting off on getting caught. So he stands there like an idiot and watches them get off—Meagan, anyway. Gabe hears her whisper, "Wait," to Pete.

He whines, makes puppy dog eyes. "What _gives_?" She won't let him touch himself, either, but spins Pete around so Gabe's looking right at him.

"You're not as sneaky as you think," Meagan says, grinning. "I heard the shower turn off." She takes a tissue from the box on the desk and wipes between her legs, then gathers up her clothes and slides them on. Gabe doesn't know how she can; he hates putting his clothes back on even hours after sex.

"Okay, I'm gonna go stay with Patrick and Elisa. You guys need some time." Meagan grabs her bag, kisses them both and then Pete again, and then she leaves, hair swinging behind her.

It must be because of Ashlee or Bianca or Erin or something else, but Gabe still marvels at her, this woman he loves but isn't in love with, and how independent she is. Sometimes Gabe still feels like it's a trap, that what he and Pete are doing actually isn't okay, that she actually isn't okay with leaving right after sex, but that's just his anxiety talking. Meagan is way too warm-hearted for that.

"I was promised a blowjob," Gabe reminds him, and crawls into bed. "If you're not completely tired out, that is."

"Fuck you, I'm used to this again and you're only a year younger." Pete's voice is flat and nasal, hard Midwestern vowels, and then gone completely as he takes Gabe's dick into his mouth. There's a little scrape of teeth, but Pete doesn't back off, just sucks in a big breath and goes as far down as he can.

"I bet you couldn't take it all. I'm so big and you're so little," Gabe says. Pete still likes to be teased, challenged, like that even though there's no way he'll be able to do it.

"Yeah." Pete pulls off and swirls his tongue around the head of Gabe's dick, making him shiver. "You're huge. I want you to fuck me tomorrow with your big dick and then I'll feel it all day. I'll feel it onstage."

Pete hums around him and cups Gabe's balls, and Gabe pushes up, knowing Pete's going to gag a little, but it's so warm and wet and good that he can't help himself. He makes it maybe another minute or two before he loses it and Pete senses it; he pulls away and strokes Gabe through it, getting come all over his cheeks and lips in the process.

Gabe can barely breathe, but he manages to say, "Such a good boy. So patient." Pete's desperate now, though, crawling up the bed and fucking into Gabe's hand hard, like he'll die if he doesn't get off. He's close, and he doesn't last all that long before shaking a little and then going completely still.

Even though the bed is perfect, Gabe gets up and cracks open the mini-fridge to get some water, chugging half a bottle at once and handing the other one to Pete.

"You're all dirty," he says, still breathy. He licks a little of his own come off Pete's face, kisses him again. "Night meds and wash your face. Tomorrow morning I'll fuck you and then we'll shower and meet up with everyone for food." Gabe's tired enough that he's halfway to sleep when Pete's weight settles back into the bed a few minutes later, unsure if he actually did it and too gone to care.

**iii. if i could change anything about you, it would be a mistake.**

It's a shitty day, and it's not even noon. Gabe's been up since five and he's almost nostalgic for his out of control days, when he could wake up just in time for soundcheck and drink his breakfast and then drink everything else.

Almost.

Because he was up early for Bronx, who came down with the flu from hell and puked so many times Gabe called Papi for advice. Because Pete and Ashlee are in the middle of an epic fight, and Meagan is just generally having a rough month. When it rains, it pours, and all that shit.

But only almost, because his liver appreciates the break, and he's much happier this way. Even though he has to take two showers to feel fully clean and also fucking _bleach_ the toilet to get rid of all the sick.

Kids. You gotta take the good with the bad.

And to top it all off, he finally decide's to take Nate's advice and get some exercise, but it starts showering in the middle of his run—unusually heavy for L.A., of fucking _course_. Gabe's toes are swimming in his shoes, so he cuts it short and heads home.

Pete's waiting for him when he gets there, just sitting on the steps like it's not pouring out. Gabe only ever saw him this oblivious to his surroundings once, during the divorce. He hopes nothing's wrong, carefully approaches Pete and sits down next to him.

"Fucking weather," Pete says under his breath. "I don't even. I didn't leave Chicago for this."

"You're telling me." East Coast weather isn't really any less unpredictable, but it never seems as inconvenient. Gabe puts his hand on Pete's and rubs where Pete's thumb and forefinger join. "So you thought you'd just sit out here and get all wet? Qué te pica?"

Pete shakes his head. "Jill called." His exhale is rough, like it's being pulled from his lungs. "We're getting a little girl."

This isn't the first time they've gotten this news, and even though the last time was heartbreaking for Gabe, being so close to getting a child only to have the idea snatched away, he can't help let out a yell and squeeze Pete so tightly he gets shoved away with a, " _Breathing_ , dude. I've been told it's good."

"Sorry," Gabe says, "...not sorry. About fucking time." It's taken years. There was so much fucking red tape, between the decision that no one would get married, even for simplicity's sake, and seeing if they could adopt a kid from Uruguay (unlikely), and the casework, that Gabe's kind of surprised he made it through without a serious breakdown. "You okay? You're quiet, Wentzlet."

"No, yeah, I'm thrilled. Seriously." Pete grins, showing a mouthful of white teeth. Gabe always forgets how big and horsey they are. "It's just big, you know? It's gonna change our lives so fuckin' much. And I'm bummed I can't go to Costa Rica with you."

Gabe's bummed about it too, obviously, though he's been trying to focus on the positive, that they're finally getting a kid. "Rules are rules," he says wistfully. And then, under his breath, because he can't help it, "Fuck the world."

They'll tell Meagan tonight, and then their parents, and then Bronx and their friends, but for now, Gabe likes this. It's almost like their little secret. If this were a cheesy movie, the rain would let up and a rainbow would appear behind a tree or some shit, but it's not, and against the odds, it keeps raining. Gabe presses his mouth to Pete's in a wet kiss, touching his hair, feeling how it's started to dry and frizz and then get slicked down again. They kiss and kiss, not leading up to anything, just breathing each other in, until it's time to pick Bronx up from school.


End file.
